


Amnesia

by thewill



Category: Saga (Comics)
Genre: Abuse, Backstory, Family, Flashbacks, domestic abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-02
Updated: 2014-07-02
Packaged: 2018-02-07 03:56:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1884411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thewill/pseuds/thewill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Very good, Billy. This is Sophie. I'm here now, okay?"<br/>Who are the sister and brother bounty hunter ex-team, really?<br/>(Will we see The Will again?)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Amnesia

Flashbacks, excerpts, fragments are all that is left of me. My mind is shattered. Everything is sharp. When I try to piece the mirror back together, to look at my reflection and find out who I am, it draws blood. I can hear people moving around me, rushing and yelling and sticking things into my skin, but I am far away from it. Reality seems like the dream, and this odd haze I am circling slowly is the only thing that is tangible, close enough to touch. Don’t touch. The edges are sharp. Mind is hurting. More medication into my sluggish system. Deeper into dark, disposed of memories. Forget. Remember. Who cares. I’m spiraling into nothing.

 

 

“Billy! Billy, come here and look, Billy,” calls Sophie from across the yard. I’m lying flat on my back, grass tickling my arms as I lay them down and pick up again, rubbing my eyes to switch from daytime to nighttime. Eyes open, blue sky, clouds, dying sun. Eyes tight shut, spinning stars, new fun planets, adventure. I’ll get up there someday.

“Billy, come on!”

I flop over, groaning. While I look up, Sophie looks down. She likes the plants, and the bugs that crawl around. They dig in the dirt, like her. I think she likes the bugs more than me sometimes. It’s okay, because not a lot of people like me. I’ll take what I can get.

Plopping down with a grunt next to her, I raise my eyebrow in mock interest. She screeches and shoves me over with surprising force; I come up with a mouthful of grass and an angry knot forming on my forehead.

“You want me to run over here quick, and when I obediently comply, you push me away,” I mumble, “Now, how does that make sense?”

She laughs; it’s a tinkling noise that makes me smile without a doubt every time. She may be the toughest kid on the block when it comes to a fight; she usually starts them trying to protect me, but I knew she was hardened out of necessity. I was her little brother and she felt it right to keep me safe, even if we were twelve and thirteen respectively and both well old enough to take care of ourselves. She thought it was her job to keep me safe, anyways.

“You almost crushed Abraham!” She drops her hand to the ground and raises it again to show me her new find: a big, fuzzy black caterpillar. I comically mime throwing my lunch in disgust, and she doubles over, shaking in fits of laughter. Suddenly, she sits up again, jumping out of her skin with a cry of pain. I reach out and steady her. She looks a little woozy.

“Little dude bit me, I think. That’s weird; I didn’t think they had—”

Sophie goes limp in my arms.

I panic when shaking her a few times doesn’t rouse any sort of response. I try to think to school, science class, what do I know about bugs? We don’t learn much in school, the budget for education is so miniscule these days it’s basically a place our caretakers, if we have some, can lock us up for a few hours while they try to make a living on minimum wage, if they can even find a job.

Off topic. Caterpillars. Right.

Oh, god.

How did this genius sister of mine not know she’d picked up the most poisonous one in the book?

I tuck Sophie securely over my shoulder with intentions to take her inside. She’s usually very light, but with the dead weight she’s too heavy to carry. I place her back down and run to call for help.

“This is emergency response, what seems to be the issue?”

“P-p-please help? My sister is dying I think please help?” I could barely get the words out: _my sister is dying._ I’d already lost my mother and I hadn’t seen my father for days. I couldn’t lose Sophie too. Then I’d be all alone.

“Please help me please I can’t lose her please help me,” I rambled on as the operator tried to respond.

“It’s okay kid, just stay on the line so we can track your location. Do you have a parent we can speak to? Are they home?”

I froze. If they figured out Sophie and I are here all by ourselves for days at a time, they’ll throw us into foster care and we’ll never see the light of day again.

“Uh, not right now, but don’t worry I will call him, just, please get my sister right now please.”

“Okay, we’ve just sent someone your way. They’ll be there shortly. Don’t worry, everything will be fine.”

I practically slam the phone through the receiver in my hurry to rush back outside. Sophie’s breathing, but shallowly, and her eyelids are fluttering.

I hear the siren approaching. Everything is slow and sped up at the same time. They run in, put her on the stretcher, and run back out. Pat me on the back and say I can ride in the back of the ambulance with her while I tell them what happened. The hospital is a few blocks away, and I say I’ll meet them there, but I have to do something first. They give me a weird kind of, _ok kid, whatever,_ look, and take Sophie away. They don’t seem too concerned, so I feel comforted Sophie will be alright. My heart starts beating a little slower. I use the leftover adrenaline to pick up the phone and painstakingly dial my father’s number, something I’m not often brave enough to do. When it goes to voicemail for the third time, I give up and leave him a message.

My father gets home very late that night, long after I’ve walked the shaky but alive Sophie home from the hospital and tucked her into bed, checking on her every hour on the dot, watching to make sure she’s still breathing, still peacefully asleep.

My father is inhibited beyond reason. I have to tell him about Sophie several times before his scrambled mind can finally place the garbled syllables into a sentence he can process. The way he squints when I’m stupid enough to ask him in any kind of irritated tone why he didn’t answer the phone or check his voicemail makes me shrink into the wall. I want to melt into the peeling, dated wallpaper and escape.

My father berates me for letting this happen to Sophie, asks me why I didn’t watch her closer, why I was such an idiot, why I can’t be as smart as Sophie or good at anything. I ask him why he’s never home and always drunk.

My father hits me so hard I see stars again. Pretty, pretty night sky. Someone’s body thumps to the ground softly. Fuzzy carpet touches my face. I’m flying.

My father is gone again when I wake up. I don’t bother to tell Sophie he was ever there. She doesn’t need to be worried by him. He’s not worth a single train of thought, especially in Sophie’s mind. I tell her I’m a big ditz, that I fell and hit my head on the coffee table, when she asks my why my eye is big and purple and black. I tell her I tried to see space too hard. I can tell she doesn’t believe it one bit, but she plays along all the same.

 

 


End file.
